A Scandal in the Chamber of Secrets
by factory-rejects13
Summary: I kind of went crazy, I not only gender bent Sherlock, but I made them teenagers in Hogwarts. Enjoy...


John Watson fiddled uncomfortably at his desk, watching the door and the clock above the white board. A growing cloud of green grey smoke was inching its way to door, and there was seconds left in Watson's school day. _How did it not set off the smoke alarms?_ He wondered as he chewed relentlessly on the end of his pencil.

The harsh buzz from the bell caused him to leap from his chair, feeling temporarily embarrassed, he dashed off to the origin of the smoke. It led him to the door of the broom closet 221B in Hogwarts. Banging the door open, he released a giant puff of smoke that smelled similarly to the cafeteria's cheese and Mrs. Hudson's perfume. John coughed violently.

"Holmes! You are a fiend!" he banged into several unseen objects in the tiny nine-foot by nine-foot closet, on his way to the window, barely visible in the cloud. Watson wrestled the rusty tiny window open, satisfied to be breathing in fresh cold January air. The green cloud rushed with great haste out the open window, leaving behind the stench of cheese. In the now lit room, John could see the teenager, Sherlock Holmes. The ends of her black mohawk were tipped blue this morning and her brown eyes were bloodshot. Her white button down was messily buttoned and she was not wearing the skirt required for their school. Instead she wore John's old pants that he grew out of last year. Her lithe body let the clothes hang loosely about her. A cigarette, that had long since burned down dangled in her small mouth. She sat cross-legged on a stool watching a beaker smoke.

John with a roar of frustration, took tongs off the table, picked up the beaker and tossed it out the open window.

"John, really now. I was just getting to the bottom of what makes up the cheese they use in the cafeteria," said Holmes frowning.

"Do you want to loose this room?"

"It's a broom closet John. How attached do you want me to be?"

"Very, seeing as the library is full of loud idiots, and I have no where to study."

"I was here first."

Watson sighed, "Mrs. Hudson is soon to retire, I really would hate to see her fired over a stupid stunt like this. She's been very sympathetic to us ever since we came to school here. I just wish you would show up to her homeroom more."

Holmes narrowed her eyes, and sighed, "I couldn't agree more. However…"

"No buts. We have an hour for lunch. You're eating."

"But…" Holmes started. John gave her a look that made her shut her mouth. She flicked her cigarette but out the window, and got up grabbing her patched blazer. Watson reached out to open the door when it slammed open on his face. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother and prefect of the school poked his face in the door. "Terribly sorry John," he deadpanned, "Sherlock, the headmaster wants to see you."

Sherlock smirked triumphantly, "Oh well, there goes lunch," she said almost sarcastically. She grabbed John's tie and dragged him down the hall.

"Holmes, I really don't think being called to the office is something to be proud of," said John said nervously. Sherlock only cackled wildly.

Five minutes later, the duo stood before the stone griffin, waiting for the passage to open up. Sherlock had gotten bored in only a few seconds and began to draw a mustache on the griffin with a heavy black sharpie. "Come on in," a wizened old voice called. Sherlock and John both looked up to see the griffin had moved to reveal the spiral staircase upstairs.

The headmaster, West, was old and with a grey beard, balding head looked up at them with squinty eyes. Above him, were the portraits of headmasters from the past. One of the past professors, Dumbledore gave Sherlock a wink, and another Snape gave a disapproving glare. Headmaster West's wrinkled hands shook as he gestured to the seats across from him.

"Judging from the sour puss look on Watson's face, you've been at the 'scientific experiments' again," the headmaster began, folding his hands in front of his chest, "Now a lot has changed since the wars with Voldemort. You Sherlock are a very special case, any or all magic you seem to use, makes the things you target… blow up. We let you into the school hoping that you would control it. You were way over the age of acceptance, but you far too dangerous to be let loose."

"Yes sir," Sherlock said stiffly.

"John, how are classes with Ms. Grey? She's an excellent cleric and I believe she'll make an excellent mentor for you."

"They are going very well, in fact I think…"

"That's nice dear," the headmaster cut him off, "Sherlock I have a job for you." Sherlock who had been slouching earlier sat up straighter, her dark eyebrows rose.

"My daughter is to be married in a week. She seemed to have a rather unfortunate affair with…" the headmaster hesitated, causing Sherlock's grin to grown wider, "a troll," Sherlock slapped her hand to her mouth, "I know, I know it's horrible," he sighed heavily, hand on heart, "The troll has photographic evidence, I need you to get it back, please. Before it's too late." Sherlock bit her lip and nodded quickly. She and John both exited.

By the time, they had reached 221B again, John asked, "Sherlock you haven't said anything since the office. Are you really feeling something for his daughter." Sherlock burst into hyena like laugher, "A troll?" she laughed clutching her sides, "That twit of daughter. Doesn't she realize that trolls are dangerous?"

"Only dangerous when you have sex with them," John murmured quietly, causing Sherlock to laugh uncontrollably. John smiled and opened the door to 221B. Sherlock sat down and sobered up. She lit up a cigarette by the open window. "Are you going to class?" John got no response from the question, "Are you going to take the case?" Sherlock mumbled, "Just because you can't control your magic doesn't mean you have to do the headmaster's dirty work all the time." Sherlock turned her back to John as he left quietly to go to homeroom.

In Mrs. Hudson's homeroom, John was alone. As it turns out, Sherlock wasn't the only one skipping class. John looked over his notes on toadstools without absorbing anything. "Anything bothering you my dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked looking over his shoulder.

"I'm worried about Sherlock, she's been getting worse," John sighed.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Sherlock. Sherlock is Sherlock, I'm afraid that she would be just as strange as muggle as she is a witch. She finds Muggle Studies fascinating, and she doesn't care what people think of her. Most of all she doesn't really care if she could use magic or not."

"I wish I could help."

"You are helping, you are a Gryffindor. You hold loyalty very highly," she smiled, patted his shoulder, "You're dismissed early."

John rejoined Sherlock under the great staircase in 221B broom closet. Sherlock had out done herself this time. She stolen one of the suits of armor from the fifth floor, and it was one of the enchanted ones. It was ramming itself against the wall trying to dislodge Sherlock.

"John! Quick the map on the table… Ow… Read the spell… ow!" Sherlock's voice shook with every hit.

"How the hell did you get that thing on in the first place?"

"I bribed a first year into casting Immobulus…ow… but before, I snuck into the Gryffindor common room and… ow… stole a useful map." John looked at the strange bit of parchment on the table.

"Holmes, the thing is blank," John said annoyed, "Are you sure you didn't inhale too much of that smoke?" Sherlock said something, but it muffled by the rapid banging of the armor against the stonewall. "What?" shouted John.

"SAY I AM SOLEMLY SWEAR I AM UP TO NO GOOD, AND POINT YOUR WAND AT THE DAMN THING." John did what Sherlock said, and the armor stopped its erratic behavior.

"Now will you explain what is going on?" John sighed.

"I deduced the map would come in handy when I saw some red-haired nerds wandering around late at night when I couldn't sleep. I followed them a couple of times. They mostly snuck out into the grounds, and last year they smuggled students into Hogsmeade. They were all Gryffindors, and since you were in class I had to do the sneaking by myself. So I disguised myself as one of them. When I took it, and found the enchanted suit of armor that will take you anywhere on the grounds, I had to bribe the first year to use Immobulus and to say the spell that makes the armor take you places, then hand me the map. Unfortunately, when the armor gets you one place, the enchantment wears off."

"Did none of the professors try and stop you?"

"One did, but apparently the armor also has a defensive spell on it. The potion master kinda got thrown into a wall…"

"Holmes, why did you need the armor?"

"To take us to the trolls. Now find the spell next to the suit of armor and let's go."

Soon, John and Sherlock were up to their knees in sewage. "This used to be the Chamber of Secrets?" asked John. Sherlock shushed him. A loud grunting laughter could be heard echoing in the chamber. Over in the far right tunnel lay an island of garbage, hold up two very fat and smelly trolls. They were both a bluish hue with sick green drapes of fabric hanging off of their shoulders. Stringy hair hung in their glittering eyes as they scratched the areas covered by loincloths. John stepped forward to say something, but Sherlock stopped him, "I'll handle this," she said tapping the armor. John nodded in agreement; he had nearly forgotten that the armor had a defense spell.

"Excuse me," Sherlock boomed her voice making loose dirt crumble off of the ceiling. The two trolls turned, "Wut?" one of them asked stupidly.

"I am looking for a photo," she asked.

"A photo?" the second troll laughed, "What use is a photo to us trolls?

"You seem to be smarter than the other one."

"Heheh.. He got a whack to his head. I got a tap from a very ditzy wizard years ago."  
"So then a photo does have some sentimental value to you?"

"… No…" the troll looked around nervously.

"How did you manage to get in here? From what I learned, this Chamber could only be opened by a Parseltongue."

"Left open."

"Left open? Looks more like ripped open," Sherlock smirked.

"What's human doin' down here, stickin'…." he looked at Sherlock, "…his nose into other people's business?"

"I told you a photo. Of you and a girl having sex. Please don't waste anymore of my time."

"I'll make a trade with ya. I want that armor and for you to cast a similar spell on my buddy here." Sherlock tumbled out of the armor, and looked at John nervously. John nodded. Sherlock stuck out her hand, "It would be my honor, now the photo first." The troll narrowed his eyes and pulled out a grimy photo from where the loincloth hung limply at his hips. Sherlock went over and hovered her hands over the troll, "Episkey," she said, before taking off running.

John noted that the color of the spell that came from her hands. Usually wizards need wands to channel their energy, but Sherlock's magic was so violent that if Sherlock had no limbs, it would be coming out of her mouth. The color of the spell was neon purple, and it fizzled in the air. John didn't get any more time to look at what happened next because Sherlock had grabbed his tie and yanked him forward down the tunnel.

It wasn't long before the both of them were knocked to their feet as a loud boom echoed. If John's ear weren't ringing they would hear the clang of the armor chasing after the troll and the troll chasing them. Sherlock was tugging him to his feet, he felt woozy, and she was soaked from the sewage water and seemed almost excited by the turn of events. They wobbled and ran to the exit, but John could just make out Sherlock shouting, "REDUCTO!" and a whole bit of the ceiling came crashing down on the troll.

Panting by the collapsed wall, they took seats on fall rock. Once John managed to get his ears to function properly, he tended gently to Sherlock's scrapes. She was still giggling helplessly over the turn of events.

"Well I found one spell that works perfectly," said Sherlock.

"It makes things explode, of course its going to work," sighed John casting various spells over her scraped knee, "I guess the next step is to try to do that on other spells. I can't believe that happened. I bet you dropped the photo too."

"Never," Sherlock pulled the photo from inside her blazer pocket, "Ohh… it's one of the moving ones too." She admired it for a few seconds.

"Well I guess we hand it over to the headmaster now?"

"I'm keeping this," Sherlock said, wiping her wet hair back, "It makes for good blackmail."

"What are you going to tell the headmaster? He's not just going to believe you."  
"That's where you're wrong, John. Look around you, the evidence is clear. The professor is going to deduce two things, one, I was unable to get the photo from the troll because trolls are violent and stupid. Two, we ran and I made things explode. Three, whereever the photo ended up it's destroyed because of water or with the dead crushed troll. You know the headmaster is too old to use magic when the truth is in front of him."

John sighed, "That's three things…" he said and helped Sherlock up, "Besides," said Sherlock, "I'd like to do some research on troll coitus with humans."

"Holmes…" John groaned, playfully shoving his friend.


End file.
